


Turbulence

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, UST, other people thinking mulder and scully are married, scully hates flying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 16:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15174992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Scully gets sick on a rough flight.





	Turbulence

Flying in summer is hell. For Scully, anyway. Mulder knows this. She doesn’t admit it, but she doesn’t like flying. Her dislike is irrational and Scully, of course, doesn’t do irrational. Once she gave him a lecture (at least it seemed like one) on flying. The statistics on crashes, on turbulence and airplane related injuries. Who knows these things? Scully does. That doesn’t change the fact that she doesn’t enjoy it. At all. Five years of flying with her and Mulder has seen it all. Or so he thought. She hasn’t been feeling well all day. Told him she was fine, though, when clearly she was not – and still isn’t.

Scully leans her head against the small airplane window, her eyes closed. It’s her way of telling him to leave her alone. He can do that. It’s only late afternoon and he is not tired at all. He has a big bag of sunflower seeds and a book he’s been meaning to read. Mulder, against all odds, feels strangely happy. He’s grinning to himself as the flight attendant walks by to check that they’ve put on their seatbelts and even he notices that she thinks he’s smiling at her. Mulder turns to Scully as if to see her reaction. But her eyes are still closed and judging by her slightly opened mouth, he is certain she’s asleep already. His eyes remain on her a moment longer, concern replacing his recent happiness. Scully never falls asleep before they’re in the air. She hates the start the most. Mulder can’t take his eyes off her, forgets to put the sunflower seed he’s holding in his hand into his mouth. Unlike her, he loves the start. The feeling of leaving the earth, the momentum. Scully’s head lolls about as the plane lifts off, but she doesn’t wake up. Mulder makes sure that if she does, if she startles even the tiniest bit, he’ll be there.

When the seatbelt signs goes out, Mulder relaxes. Scully doesn’t stir, is fast asleep. Sleep will do her good. It’s been almost a year since she went in remission. Sometimes, on days like today, his fear resurfaces. Days when she’s too quiet, eats too little and sleeps too much. Mulder feels like taking her into his arms and holding her tight. Just so that no one, and nothing, can hurt her ever again. Looking at her sleeping form, he wishes he could tell her and see her roll her eyes at him. Maybe later.

An hour into the flight and the trouble starts. First it’s minor turbulence, a small jolt. Mulder sticks a finger between the pages he’s reading, waits for the ping to remind passengers to put their seatbelts back on. Scully wakes with a gasp and grabs the arm rest between them.

“What’s happening?” She asks still half asleep.

“Turbulence.” Mulder places his hand over hers. It’s ice cold. He doesn’t get the chance to ask her if she’s feeling all right, because they hit another air pocket and a baby starts crying a few rows back. Scully whimpers. He’s never heard her whimper before. “Hey, it’s going to be all right,” he reminds her and she nods, her eyes squeezed shut. Mulder laces his fingers through hers to let her know he’s there whatever happens. It’s awfully intimate and for a moment he forgets all turbulence, even Scully’s fear. His eyes are fixated on their entwined hands. The flight attendant, in a very calm, almost lazy voice, assures them that nothing is going to happen and to keep the seatbelts on. She is no longer walking around either; not a good sign.

“Hey Scully?” Mulder hopes she’ll look at him. One eye opens, as if she’s testing it out. The plane rumbles and jolts. Over them pieces of luggage are jostled about by the unexpected movement.

“Mulder.” Another whimper.

“Shhh, it’s all right. Remember the statistics on plane crashes? It’s the safest way to travel, right?” Scully nods. “See? Nothing is going to happen to you, to me or this plane. Just some light turbulence. It’s always the same in summer.” She knows this. Mulder knows she knows because she told him so. He is not going to remind her of that fact right now.

“I know that, Mulder,” her voice sounds strange, strangled, “I’m just not feeling so well.” Oh, oh. Of course. She hasn’t been feeling well. Her face stares back at him, pleading.

“Uhm, I’m sure there’s a bag here somewhere. Let me-”

“I’m not going to be sick here, Mulder,” she says determinedly. If anyone can will herself not to throw up, it has to be Scully. Her face, however, is telling a different story. She’s ashen, looks like a ghost. Even the blue of her eyes looks washed out.

“Scully, it’s nothing to be-”

“I am not,” she emphasizes it by digging a sharp fingernail into his skin, “going to be sick while sitting here.” The plane is not cooperating. It seems to be flying in waves. Up and down, up and down.

“Scully, please.”

“No.” She squeezes her eyes shut, breathes in an out in a steady rhythm; Mulder is reminded of Lamaze classes. He puts his other hand over their joined ones. Lets her know he’s listening and that he’s willing to help her any way he can. Another minute and suddenly the plane rides smoothly again. They wait a moment, a long one. Mulder stares at the seatbelt sign, knows that Scully will not break this simple, stupid rule just because she’s feeling sick. When the ping comes and the light goes off, she quickly clicks her seatbelt off and scrambles over Mulder’s thighs as he himself is too slow for her. He swears he can hear her feet sprint towards the lavatory. He waits five minutes before he follows her. There’s a line already and Mulder tells them to use the one in the front. A young man rolls his eyes, but he couldn’t care less. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and hopes to look authoritative. If nothing else works he can always flash his badge.

When Scully comes out, she looks like a kitten that’s fallen into a bucket of water. Mulder takes her into his arms simply because he can’t stop himself. For once she comes willingly.

“I need a toothbrush,” she says against his chest and he kisses the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, Scully.”

“It’s not your fault, Mulder,” Scully reminds him, holding on to him. “I hate flying,” she adds unnecessarily.

“I know,” another kiss to her head, “I know. Let’s go back to our seats.”

“Is everything all right?” It’s the flight attendant from earlier. Mulder loosens his grip on Scully, but doesn’t let go. She leans heavily against him and he’s holding her up with his arm around her waist.

“Do you or your wife need anything?” She smiles at them both. Neither of them corrects her.

“A toothbrush,” Mulder says in a gentle voice, hoping the passengers closest to them can’t hear. The flight attendant nods, “And maybe some Pepto-Bismol?” She nods again, promises to check if they have any.

“I’m so embarrassed, Mulder,” Scully says, hides her face against his chest, nuzzling him. She’s never done that before. Not that he’s complaining.

“Why? You’re sick. Happens to the best of us.”

“Not to me.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Here you go.” The flight attendant hands him a traveler’s toothbrush wrapped in plastic and a small tube of toothpaste. “You need to sign here that I gave you this,” she points to the Pepto-Bismol and turns to Scully, “you go ahead, my dear. Your husband can do it for you.” She gives Scully a big, honest smile. Mulder, too, for the first time in a while feels like grinning himself. He signs for the Pepto and waits for Scully to return. The flight attendant makes her round, checks on other passengers.

Scully looks slightly better, less pale, when she emerges from the bathroom. Mulder opens his palm and she takes the small, pink pill from him and puts it in her mouth.

“Thank you.”

“Well, you’re my wife,” he says as his hand lands on her back, gently leading them back to their seats. Scully gets in, puts her seatbelt on and leans back. Mulder follows her, tilts his head to look at her.

“How you’re feeling?”

“Better. I hope the rest of the flight will be smooth.”

“I’m sure it will be. If not, you can always squash my hand. It’s my duty as your husband.”

“Would you stop that?” But she’s smiling.

“Why? No one knows us here. The flight attendant thinks we’re married.”

“But we’re not.”

“Not yet.” He waggles his eyebrows at her and there, finally, is the eye roll he’s been waiting for. 

“Read your book, Mulder.” He reaches for it and just as he gets comfortable, his eyes on the written words, Scully’s hand sneaks over and takes his. Neither comments on it; they just let it happen. They don’t let go until they land.


End file.
